Unite or Fall
by xShadowx7
Summary: AU. being revamped. Y6 fic. The sorting hat warned all of Hogwarts to unite, but no one ever listened. It was war and to win: there would need to be drastic change.


Unite or Fall

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns and created the world of Harry Potter, therefore I hold no part in her success. However, anything you don't recognize _is_ mine.

A/N: I am BACK! And hopefully better as well. I said a long time ago that this was my first fanfic and it was really a mess, so I'd go back to redo it. Well, I redid the first chapter! Better than nothing though right? And, in my own opinion, it is much better than my first attempt. Thanks to all that actually liked my story the first time around, hopefully you aren't disappointed with the new version. Happy reading, and enjoy!

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Prologue~

Several bodies writhed on the ground, in obvious terrible pain. Voldemort, the dark lord of the current century, watched impassively as the werewolves under his command began to change into their animal forms.

A cruel grin crossed his reptilian face as he listened to grown, hardened men scream in agony as their faces lengthened into snouts, their hands transformed into claws, and their bones shifted in their bodies. These pitiful beings posed no challenge to him- or at least they soon wouldn't.

When he made to leave, Fenrir Greyback (the werewolf that had been the closest), in his seizures, flopped across the space of floor in front of the dark lord. Voldemort's lip curled and lashed out with his silver-tipped boots that he wore especially around the full moon- it made all the mongrels more… compliant. The blow caught the alpha on his cheekbone, shattering it; the silver leaving a raw blister that spread up to his lower eyelid and across to his nose. Fenrir curled up into a ball, clutching at his eye- the transformation he was going through becoming even more painful. Voldemort stalked out of the room without a glance.

It was night; dark, with the moon continuously being hidden and revealed by thick clouds. The ground was almost completely covered by a curling mist that swirled around Voldemort's legs and cape as he left his headquarters and trekked out.

The dementors that he passed immediately headed closer to the building to keep out of his way, their ghostly tattered robes moving in an unseen wind, and their cold stinging the dark lord's exposed hands and face. But the dark lord did not seem to acknowledge the freezing conditions as he continued across the flat expanse of land until he could go no farther.

A circle of runes awaited him a mere few feet away from where the ground abruptly dropped off to the crashing waves of the ocean below. Voldemort, after removing his boots, cloak, and robes (leaving him only in a loose-fitting shirt and trousers), stepped carefully through the only gap in the runes so he could stand in the center. Then, he produced a length of wood from a holster attached to his arm and cancelled the magicks keeping it shrunken. It expanded into a staff made of yew (the same wood as his wand), that was carved with lines of runes that ran the entire length of the staff. One end was carved into a blunt point, while other end gripped a dark red stone.

Voldemort raised the staff up and sent a bit of magic up its length, causing the runes to glow with a red-tainted golden light and the stone set at the top to burn like a red-hot coal. A harsh, cold gale surged in from the ocean, whipping Voldemort's shirt and trousers around, bringing in more dark clouds, sweeping away the mist that had covered the ground and sending the cloak and robes he had discarded twisting up and away.

With some difficulty, Voldemort used the pointed end to carve a few more runes into the ground, completing the circle. As soon as the staff left the ground, the runes lit up with the same light as the runes on the staff and sent up a whole new gust originating from the circle.

Voldemort laughed, even as the dark clouds overhead began to twist into a vortex over him- the wind from the runes beginning to mirror its circular motion, increasing in speed- and the pocket of space he was standing in becoming a vacuum. The moon was suddenly revealed directly above him, the clouds swirling slowly around it so it remained visible.

"It's time," Voldemort whispered with difficulty, as air was getting scarce. He quickly banished his staff outside of the circle and drew the only other object he had left: a dagger.

The dagger was of obvious Slytherin origin, what with the emerald making up the pommel and the guard being a silver snake in motion. However, it was the blade that was the most unique; it was dull silver-yellow-green color with many undercurrent colors. Voldemort stroked the blade lightly with one fingertip, just as the last traces of air left the space pocket he was in.

Quickly, Voldemort shrugged out of his shirt, revealing the runes he had drawn on his chest, back, neck and arms in a mix of water and charcoal. Then, he ripped both legs of his trousers so his legs up to his thighs were exposed, where more runes had been drawn.

Like he had with the staff, Voldemort raised his dagger to the sky before bringing the blade down upon his hand, slicing it open. He coated the blade with the blood that came gushing forth from the wound, watching as his blood warmed and mixed with what had been coating the blade beforehand. Making sure the mixture didn't drip, Voldemort used the dagger to slice into his flesh, with the charcoal runes as a guideline.

Once he had finished cutting in to every rune on his body, he smeared even more of the concoction on the blade into the incisions until the metal of the blade was once again visible. Voldemort dropped the blade as the runes he cut into his skin glowed to match the circle of runes around him and his nerves lit on fire.

Teeth grinding, Voldemort kept from screaming and began to chant in a whisper. The hardest part of the ritual was not creating the exact right form of runes, nor cutting into himself: it was speaking Latin in parseltongue (so it was almost guaranteed that no one could stop him)- where translation was difficult.

As he hissed, pressure started building up in his chest, becoming more and more unbearable as the seconds ticked by. Just as Voldemort had uttered the last syllable, he violently went into spasms, barely able to keep his footing as he staggered about the circle.

The sharp wind that had been whirling around him exploded outwards, blasting the dark clouds overhead away and blowing away the runes that were carved in the ground. The earth rocked and Voldemort fell to his knees as a chunk of the cliff the size of a car fell into the sea with a boom as it hit submerged rock.

The pressure in Voldemort's chest finally burst, and he _screamed_, throwing back his head- the tendons in his neck standing out in sharp relief.

Miles away, in Surrey, Harry Potter woke, screaming as he arched off his bed in agony. Outside his window, in a cloudless sky, the moon was tinted red.

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So? What'd you think? Please review and give me your thoughts. I don't have a beta though, so yes, I'm sure there are mistakes. Stay tuned, even if I have no idead when I'll get around to editing (or in this chapters case, totally rewriting) the next chapter.


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